


Don't Waste the Sun on a Rainy Day

by spacefemme



Series: Bring It On Home to Me [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ALSO ANGST OBV, Alternative Perspective, F/F, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, MARVEL BONDING TIME, Multi, Wakes & Funerals, but also solidarity, fun fact this is by FAR the longest oneshot i have ever done, out of the tragedy forms NEW FRIENDSHIPS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 12:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18941281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacefemme/pseuds/spacefemme
Summary: Scenes from the mourning.A funeral's not typically where you make friends, but Tony would have wanted his to be like this.





	Don't Waste the Sun on a Rainy Day

 

_Of all the stones, this one is the simplest to return to its place._

_Steve is, of course, surprised when he arrives at Vormir to meet its keeper, but they make no mention of their past. They both know this is a just punishment, and neither one is there to fight. The keeper begins to explain the process of obtaining the stone, but Steve quickly cuts him off to say he already knows, and that's not why he's here anyhow._

_When they reach the summit, Steve holds the stone out over the edge and lets it go. It falls quickly, but lands unharmed in the snow at the bottom, its faint glow still visible for a moment before it disappears entirely. He tries not to picture Natasha making the same descent, tries to reassure himself that she died aware of her own heroism despite what she had been molded into before._

_They’re both silent as he departs. He has no intention of going back to war. Schmidt no longer gets to hurt anyone here, and he’s done with the fight._

 

* * *

 

 

_Steve doesn't really know it, but he's right about Nat. Reaching the ground was peaceful for her._

_Yet somehow the impact seemed enough to wake the dead._

 

* * *

 

The college guy that Peter's just become acquainted with cracks the cap off his beer and sits on the couch across from him in the living room of the lake house. The service is done, and the reception is fittingly loud and crowded. Aunt May and Ms. Potts are standing by the refreshment table, picking at the veggie platters and cold cuts while they talk. Morgan has climbed up on the couch next to Peter. She doesn't really know him, he's aware, her mom has just told her that he knew her dad, and he and Harley must seem less daunting to hang around than the swarms of actual certified adults currently filling her house.

"What's that?" she asks, eyeing Harley's bottle.

"Beer," he says as he takes a swig.

“Only grown-ups can have beer,” she says. It’s clearly something she’s been told verbatim. Harley and Peter nod.

“But why?” she says.

“‘Cause it’s got grown-up stuff in it,” says Harley. “It’s not good for kids.”

"You wouldn't like it anyway," says Peter. "I mean - not that I would know."

"Why?" she says.

"Why wouldn’t you like it?”

“Yeah.”

Peter is jarred by the reminder that kids - little kids - don't know much of anything. He and Harley haven't given enough of an explanation for a four-year-old to accept, so he tries to come up with a description that can easily satiate her rather trivial curiosity.

"It just, uh...it tastes yucky for kids."

"But once you're old enough to drink it, it tastes great," says Harley, smiling as he takes another sip.

"Oh," she says, not only accepting the answer, but clearly fascinated by the concept, probably formulating in her head some image of how that would work. She squints at Harley. “How d’you know my daddy?”

“I helped him fix his suit a long time ago,” he says. “Before you were born.”

“Like the one he gave Mommy?”

“I don’t know, did he give your mommy a big suit?”

She nods.

“Then yeah, one of those. He gave me a whole lab after that; now I’m in school to be a scientist.”

“What kind of school?”

“Tennessee Tech.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a college.”

She looks up at Peter.

“Do you go to college?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m still in high school.”

“But you guys are grown-ups.”

“Yeah, well, Harley’s a little _more_ grown-up. I mean, technically I’m _supposed_ to be older than him, but…”

“Oh, dude,” Harley says, chuckling. “Don’t start with that, you’re gonna break my brain.”

“I don’t get it,” says Morgan.

“Neither do we,” says Peter. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Did you help my daddy, too?”

Peter shrugs.

“Well, yeah. He helped me more with how to work tech and all that, but I helped him fight bad guys and stuff.”

“Daddy was good at fighting bad guys,” she says, nodding. She talks like she’s seen it firsthand, but from what Peter’s heard, there’s no way she actually knows that much about it.

“He was,” he says. “You know, when I was a kid I used to dress up and pretend like I was your dad - _tha-at_ sounds weird. Okay.” His eyes widen as he hears himself.

Harley snorts, and Morgan giggles, though she probably doesn’t actually get why it would be funny.

“Iron Man,” says Peter. “I pretended I was Iron Man. Not like…yeah.”

“Do not worry about it,” says Shuri, approaching with a plastic cup of lemonade and smirking. “I used to pretend to be the Black Panther, too.” She leans against the arm of the couch next to where Morgan is sitting.

“Aren’t you next in line to be the Black Panther, though?” says Harvey. “Sounds like you get an excuse.”

“You’ve kept up with your Wakandan politics, hm?”

“Not really,” he says. “I’m an engineering major; we had to read your dissertation for one of my classes last semester.”

Morgan looks up at her curiously.

“What’s your name?”

“Shuri,” she says. “And you’re Morgan, aren’t you?”

She nods.

“Are _you_ in college?”

“Graduated.”

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

She looks back to Peter.

“What about you?”

“Seventeen,” he says.

“That’s older than her,” she says, and points at Shuri.

“Yeah?”

“So how come you’re not in college?”

“Oooh, she’s got you,” Harley taunts.

Shuri laughs, then tells her, “We all move at our own pace. I just happened to move much faster than these two.” She points between Peter and Harley.

“Oh,” says Morgan. “Did you know my daddy, too?”

“Mm,” Shuri says, thinking. “Not very well; my brother worked more closely with him. But I know he was a great man.”

“What about _your_ daddy?”

“My father is gone, too,” she says, offering a look of sympathy. “It’s alright, though. They are both resting now.”

Morgan pushes herself up to her feet on the couch and swiftly wraps Shuri up in a hug - the kind that Peter all too easily recognizes. He feels tears pricking at his eyes again, but tries to hold them in for the time being.

“Aww,” says Shuri, returning it and patting her lightly on the back. “Thank you, you’re so sweet.”

Peter looks over his shoulder and sees Ms. Potts coming toward them.

“You makin’ friends, Morgan?”

Morgan lets go of Shuri and faces her mother, still standing up on the cushion.

“This is Shuri,” she says.

“I’ve met Shuri,” says Ms. Potts, and turns toward her. “Thank you for coming.” She’s smiling, but there’s still a sadness in her face. Not like anyone here wouldn’t expect that from her, but it’s impressive how well she can keep it together right now.

Shuri nods politely.

“Where’s Uncle Happy?” Morgan asks.

“He’s sitting out on the porch,” says Ms. Potts, pointing out the window. “You wanna go hang out with him for a little bit?”

Morgan nods. “Mhm.”

“Alright, let’s go. Say ‘bye.’” She takes Morgan by the hand and gently leads her off the couch.

“Bye,” says Morgan, waving at the other three as she walks off.

Once they’re gone, Harley turns back to Peter. He’s been holding back tears, too, but he’s still grinning.

“So, who else’s dads have you dressed up as?”

Shuri chuckles, and Peter sighs and rubs his temple.

 

* * *

 

Fury is standing out on the back deck, staring off into the distance. It sucks that Carol only gets to see him after all this time because he’s lost someone, but maybe that’s on her for telling him “emergencies only.”

“You’re looking awfully dramatic,” she says, getting him to turn around.

“I’m told that’s my natural state.”

She smirks and points at his eyepatch.

“I see you decided to lean into it.”

“Thor got himself a new one, I let mine be; if you ask me, this is a better conversation starter.”

She raises an eyebrow as she leans against the railing on her elbow and says, “You’re gonna let anyone ask you about it?”

He shrugs.

“Alright, it’s a better mark of experience.”

“It does make you look more serious.”

“I’ll assume that’s a compliment,” he says, tilting his head slightly.

Carol smiles and looks out at the lake.

“So,” she says after a beat. “‘Avengers,’ huh?”

“I tried to find people who were worthy of the name. ‘Course, you weren’t there for the approval process, so S.H.I.E.L.D. had to manage it ourselves.”

“They’ve lived up to it,” she says with a nod.

“I’m glad you think so.”

“You’ve done good work here,” she says intently. “All things considered.”

“I knew it might come to this,” he says, resigned. “Stark did, too.”

“Wish we were catching up under better circumstances.”

“We are,” he says. “The fact that we only lost two of them is the best we coulda hoped for goin’ against that son of a bitch.”

He says it like it’s an absolute fact, but she can see in his face that he’s still going over alternate solutions in his head, trying to think of one that they could have come out of unscathed.

“I have to wonder why Romanoff didn’t get a memorial like this,” Carol says, frowning.

Fury shakes his head.

“She wouldn’t want one like this. We gave her her own send-off two days ago. Just family.”

She looks back at him.

“Sounds nice.”

He goes quiet for a beat, then asks, “You see anyone else yet? Since you’ve been back?”

“I’m staying with Maria. Been hanging out with her and her neighbors...and her wife.”

“And you’re good with that?”

“Sure,” she says. “After awhile, I stopped thinking of her that way. Started to hurt less and less. Now whenever I come back to Earth, the family I have waiting for me is a little bigger, and I know they’re okay when I’m gone.”

“What about her kid?”

“She lives in D.C. now. I’m meeting up with her for dinner tomorrow night, then I have to get back out there.” She nods upward.

“Well, I’m glad I could catch you before you left,” he says, still frowning, still stoic. But what else is new.

“Fury,” says Carol. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“I know. Strange told all of us, plain and simple.”

“But that wasn’t enough for you.”

“Well,” he says, stepping back and sitting down on an Adirondack chair. “It’s gonna have to be, isn’t it.”

 

* * *

 

It’s incredibly obvious that Thor’s been crying, but for whatever reason he doesn’t acknowledge it, despite the fact that they’re at a literal funeral. He still has a genuine-looking smile on his face as he walks back inside with that lady with the cool haircut who Quill’s pretty sure was the one flying in and blowing up the spaceship a few days back. It sounds like Thor’s been trying to set her up with somebody.

“Of course,” he says as they approach. “You don’t have to meet up with her if you don’t want to. In fact, I wouldn’t even be talking about this here and now if I wasn’t leaving Earth so soon. I just know you two would have a lot in common.”

“Well,” says the flying, blowing-shit-up lady. Carol, he heard Thor call her earlier. “You don’t have to convince me she’s a badass; I’ve seen her in action. I gotta leave soon, too, but if I get some time between now and then, maybe I’ll look her up.”

“Excellent!”

“Hey,” says Quill when they get close enough to hear him. “Y’know, if you wanna play matchmaker, you should invite this chi- uh, your friend to the bar tonight; they can meet up there.”

“Fantastic idea, Quill,” he says, apparently just _really_ stoked on getting his friend laid.

Quill and Carol glance at each other, both with their brows furrowed, unsure of how hopped up Thor is right now.

“We goin’ out for drinks?” she asks.

“Yes,” says Thor, rubbing his temple, his smile dropping. “A lot of us here agreed that we could use a break after everything we’ve had to deal with. You know, in the last week _alone_. So some of us are going out for drinks. This place called ‘Clinton Street.’ Quill, you’ll love it, they’ll probably play a lot of the same music you listen to on your, uh...that thing.” He points to Quill’s front pocket.

Quill pulls out the Zune and shifts his eyes, resigned.

Carol squints at it and asks, “What is that?”

“Oh,” says Quill. “It’s my Zune.”

“What?”

“Y’know, like a Walkman, only you don’t need a cassette.”

The teenage girl on the couch across from them overhears and explains, “It’s what people used to use instead of iPods.”

Carol and Thor seem to be about as lost as Quill is right now.

Thor is the only one who swallows his pride. He clears his throat and asks, “Wh- what’s an...iPod?”

“Doesn’t matter,” says the girl, standing up and approaching them, since the two guys sitting with her are have gone back to their own conversation. “No one uses those anymore, either.” She stands next to Quill and stands up on her tiptoes to look over his arm at the Zune. “I can modify that to hold more songs, if you want.”

“Oh, uh, I dunno,” says Quill with a shrug. “You’re not gonna have time before I have to go back off-planet, and I haven’t hit the storage limit anyway, so I’m good. Thanks, though.”

“Suit yourself,” she says, going back to the couch. “Perhaps next time.”

“Yeah, perhaps,” he calls back, nodding.

“Well first,” says Carol. “Let’s see what you need to add before you leave.” She takes the Zune from him and starts scrolling through his library.

“Oh, yes,” says Thor. “You’re going to want to extend your catalog; so many Earth artists you’ve missed out on. Nirvana, Walk the Moon, the Spice Girls -”

“You don’t have ‘Come On Eileen’?”

“What?”

“Dexys Midnight Runners. One of the best songs of the eighties.”

“Oh, I dunno a lot of eighties songs, mostly like, sixties and seventies.”

“You’re gonna have to get to know this one.” She rolls up her sleeve and holds the Zune against her wrist. Something blinks, and she hands it back to him. “There ya go. I added some Journey and Queen, too. And No Doubt... And Radiohead. I made sure to leave plenty of space, though, don’t worry.”

“Uh, thanks,” says Quill, looking down at the screen curiously. He didn’t get a good look at whatever tech she has, like, installed into her body, but she seems confident enough that she didn’t just short out his most prized possession.

“Well, Danvers,” says Thor, reaching out to put a hand on Carol’s shoulder. She blocks his arm, and he retracts it without so much as blinking. “I’m going to say some goodbyes, then the team has to return to our ship and start preparations to head off tomorrow. Hope to see you later.”

Quill rolls his eyes at ‘our ship,’ and Carol gives Thor a small nod as he walks away.

“I should probably get going, too,” says Carol. “Nice meetin’ you, Quill.”

“You too.”

She walks away, and Stark’s wife comes over to greet him.

“So _you’re_ Quill,” she says with a smirk that doesn’t match her tired eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m, uh, really sorry for your loss. I didn’t know him _super_ well, but -”

“It’s okay. Thanks for coming.”

He nods respectfully, careful not to say too much else. He knows exactly what she doesn’t need to be reminded of right now. Out the window, he sees a man getting out of his car with Stark’s kid, holding a fast food to-go bag. He’s looking down and talking very gently with her. Thor had better be ready to go _soon._ If Quill gets one more god-awful reminder of some other god-awful thing that’s happened to him, he’s liable to break down crying in front of a bunch of people he’s barely met.

Thankfully, Thor shows up after a relatively short moment of uncomfortable silence on Quill’s part.

“Pepper,” he says, putting a hand on her shoulder that she allows. “Thank you so much for hosting us. I promise, Stark will be vindicated. By all of us.”

“I know he will,” she says matter-of-factly. “And hey, look, he loved you. He loved all you guys.”

“We loved him, too. He will not be forgotten.”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone’s worried about that,” she says, shaking her head.

“Quill,” says Thor, turning his head back toward him. “Are you ready?”

Quill tries to seem like he hasn’t just been looking back and forth between the other two as they carried on with their much deeper personal connection.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he says. “Just gotta get the rest of the team. Ms., uh, Pepper, thanks for having us.” He tries to look sincere, hoping this is the proper etiquette, but he’s never been to this specific type of funeral, so he’s not sure.

She doesn’t seem too weirded out or offended. Good sign. He takes a breath and turns to go find the others.

“Hope you find her,” he hears Pepper say before he gets too far.

If he tries to say anything in response right now, make any kind of noise, the lump that just instantaneously emerged in his throat will screw him over. He knows she didn’t say that to rub it in, that she wishes she had even the slightest chance to see Stark again like he has the tiniest sliver of a chance to see Gamora again. But it knocks the wind out of him all the same.

It’s all he can do to turn back and give one more polite nod as thanks.

 

* * *

 

The next day, the Benatar sits landed on a hill just outside New Asgard and the team waits for Thor to finish talking to Valkyrie and getting everything settled for him to leave. Most of the team is out dicking around in the grass. Mantis keeps climbing up the hill to roll back down, Drax sits at the top sharpening a knife, and Rocket and Groot have gone into the village with Thor to help him get his stuff packed.

Quill sits in silence in the captain’s seat, scrolling through the new songs Carol added that he hasn’t had a chance to listen to yet. He gets to the one she was talking up yesterday and hooks up the Zune to play it over the comm system.

When he presses play, he wonders if he selected the right song, or if she added a song with the same title that was completely different. This doesn’t sound late-twentieth-century whatsoever. He’s hearing a slow violin piece, probably an old depressing ballad, and he doesn’t get it at all.

And then the bass kicks in, and a smile starts forming on his face.

 

* * *

  

_She feels it almost like she was the one hitting the ground again._

_She experiences the impact, but knows it’s someone else making it. It’s strange, like they landed in the exact same spot, only there’s no one else here when she wakes up, gasping sharply as her breath returns to her. She can feel their sacrifice, feels that it was a noble one this time, probably with the intent to stop Thanos. Whoever it was, she’s grateful to them, and hopes they’re at peace, but there’s no time to find out and pay her respects._

_She stands up slowly, carefully, and then doesn’t waste a moment before leaving the winter behind._

_Somewhere, there’s music playing, and her main goal right now is to go and find it._


End file.
